Shadows Of The Past
by SettingMoon
Summary: Spoiler Warning! Set one year after the Crawlers defeat. Rating may change. Contains original characters.
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: Okay, so this is my very first Fable story. I've had it bubbling about in my brain since beating Fable 3 and felt I just had to share :) I've planned several more chapters and the rating may, let me stress this, may change later on. This is Reaver we're talking about here (insert crazed fangirl laugh). Anyway, I'll give you plenty of warning if the rating does zip up, so no worries there. So, enough of me prating on at you. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Lionhead owns it all. *teardrop

**In Which the Queen Receives A Surprising Invitation**

The moon was just rising over the rooftop of the palace, bathing the garden and its statues in a pale, silver light. Wisps, floating on the light breeze, flitted to and fro between carefully manicured hedges and trees. The faint sounds of laughter and merriment could be heard, drifting over the stone walls that encircled the memorial gardens. It seemed that all of Bowerstone was celebrating tonight.

The Queen of Albion sighed softly, strumming the lute nestled in her lap. Leaning back against the cool marble of Walters' statue, she closed her eyes as the breeze tugged strains of golden hair from behind her ears. She sat, listening to the sounds of her people, their revelry bringing a small smile to her face.

It was exactly one year since she had won her great victory against the Crawler. One year since she had done what everyone, from the most impoverished beggar to the wealthiest noble, had thought impossible. She had saved her people. All of them. And she had done it without becoming a tyrant, as Logan had. It was worth celebrating, surely. In the taverns and inns, the people of Albion were raising their glasses to their beloved Queen, never wondering why the castle remained dark and silent on such an auspicious day.

One year. It had been one year since Walters death .

The smile faded from her face as her hand wandered along the strings, plucking out a slow, sorrowful melody. Tears pricked her eyes as she remembered her mentor, her teacher and friend. He had been like a father to her. More so then the great Hero King from her childhood. The father she could barely recall. He had died just before her sixth birthday, and from that day forward, it had been Walter who had listened to her trials, dried her tears and taught her of the world. He had taught her the meaning of honor and responsibility. He had taught her how to fight for what she believed in.

She sat, letting long buried memories surface as she played. Closing her eyes again, she allowed her pain and sorrow to bleed into the music. Not even Jasper knew just how deep her grief ran. She had kept tight rein on her feelings for the last year, showing only serenity and peace to the world, knowing that every expression, every action, was scrutinized. Her pain was not for public consumption.

Sinking deeper into herself, so intent on honoring her fallen comrade, she did not immediately notice that she had gained an audience. She slowly became aware of the silence of the garden, the normal sounds of insects, the rustling of animals moving through the bushes, all had grown quiet. As she continued to play, she slit her eyes open, searching the darkness for the interloper. She could just make out a figure, hidden in the shadows against the side of a stone gazebo, some twenty paces away.

_Well within my range._

Bringing her song to an end, she rose gracefully, using the lute to mask drawing her pistol. Faster then the eye could track, she aimed and fired, hitting the stone a scant two inches from the shadowy head.

"That was a warning shot. The next will be right between your eyes unless you show yourself. Now." Her voice was cold, rage seething just beneath the surface. _One moment!_ She thought. _One moment to mourn my dead in peace and I am not even allowed that!_

The figure had raised its hands, stepping forward from the shadows. Just before the moonlight illuminated the intruder, the Queen recognized the telltale top hat and cane. "It would be you..." She growled under her breath.

His smirk grew wider as he caught her muttered words, and tipping his hat, he made an elegant bow. "Good evening, your Majesty!" He drawled. Replacing his hat as he straightened, he continued, arrogance and conceit dripping from every word. "Marvelous shot, my dear, very well done! Although, you have most certainly damaged that charming little structure." Waving his fingers to indicate the rather large chip in the stone from the bullets impact. The Queen could hear the mocking in his voice and something inside her snapped. She cocked the hammer of her pistol back, anger darkening her brown eyes.

"Would you prefer I damage you? What the hell are you doing in my garden, Reaver? I am in no mood for your games tonight." She spoke, voice quiet and absolutely deadly. Her temper, normally slow to burn, was well and truly lost, and she was utterly furious with him for this intrusion. Reavers' eyes widened slightly, the only indication that he had correctly read her emotional state. Clearing his throat hastily, he again raised his hands, making soothing motions.

"Now, now, your Majesty, no need for such violence. I merely came to inquire as to your health!" Gesturing with his cane to the deserted gardens and darkened castle, he sighed with false sincerity. "I am but a loyal subject, concerned for his Monarchs well being." _What a load of tosh._ The Queen snarled to herself. "You were spying on me." She stated, keeping her tone level. "I should blast you into Old Town." She aimed, centered right between his bright, emerald eyes. She glared at him, willing herself to take that last step, one little squeeze, hesitating.

Her arm was beginning to tire, a faint tremor starting along the barrel of the pistol. Growling, she eased off the trigger and holstered her weapon. "But as satisfying as that would be, I don't go about shooting people just because they annoy me." She whirled, lute still in hand and stalked away, heading for the relative safety of the castle. She rather doubted Reaver would shoot her in the back, but he was an unpredictable sort. If he decided to take issue, she wanted her sword handy.

"Oh I'm wounded, your Majesty, simply wounded!" The arrogant peacock had strode up behind her and matched her pace. "I, spy on you? Tut, tut, my dear! I was merely on my way up to the castle when I heard your delightful musical renderings and was drawn to the source. You play remarkable well, I must say."

"I am not your dear!" They had entered the castle by this point and were proceeding down the hallway to her study. Suddenly, the Queen whirled, facing Reaver, hands on her hips. "Why are you still here? I would think that bullet was enough of a hint to go away!" She poked him in his chest with a forefinger. "Don't you have some drunken orgy to get to or something? What is so damn important that it can't wait one day?" She all but screamed the last into his face.

Reaver cocked an elegant eyebrow, somewhat taken aback by this outburst. It was...unexpected. "My dear girl, I simply wished to give you this." And, depositing a large, cream-colored envelope into her hand, he turned and sauntered out without another word.

She stared after him, dumbfounded, then looked down at the envelope. Written across the front in Reavers' large, curving hand was her name. She carried it into her study, snatching a letter opener from her desk as she passed. Flinging herself into her favorite chair, right before the fire, she carefully rested the lute against its side, away from the flames. Muttering under her breath about the nerve of pompous ex-pirate kings, she slit the envelope open and removed two sheets of paper.

The first was a invitation. Embossed in gold leaf and scarlet, it stated that, in honor of his new mansion overlooking the charming city of Aurora, Reaver was throwing a _grande f__ê__te_ and he humbly requested the presence of her Majesty as his "Guest of Honor." The Queen snorted upon reading that, doubting very greatly that Reaver knew the meaning of the word "humble." Tossing the invitation aside, she moved on to the smaller page. It was written in the same hand as the envelope and read:

_My Dear Ilona_

_Do come to my little party, it will be such an absolute bore if you don't._

_I promise, it won't be a repetition of the last time, cross my heart and all that._

_I have quite a surprise planned and you simply must be there. _

_~R~_

_Oh, and a few of your fathers old acquaintances will be in attendance._

_Surely you would not disappoint them by refusing, would you? _

The Queen read the note a second time. Reaching again for the invitation, she reread that as well. "What's he playing at?" She murmured softly to herself. A slight frown creased her forehead, and, between one breath and the next, she phased to Sanctuary.


	2. Chapter 2

Authors Note: Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Sorry for the delay in getting this out. Thank you so much for the reviews! I must confess I did a little happy dance when I saw them :) I hope you like this chapter just as much!

Disclaimer: Lionhead owns it all. *teardrop

**In Which The Queen Makes A Decision**

Reaver strode away from the castle, smiling with devilish amusement at the havoc he was leaving in his wake. The Queen, being rather too intelligent for her own good, would spend the rest of the night scrutinizing his little gift, trying to glean some insight into his plans. She would find none of course, but then, that had been the point.

He laughed into the night, startling several merry-makers who were passing by. Their eyes filled with fear at the sight of just whose path they had stumbled into and, in their haste to get away, they careened wildly into one another in a most comical manner. He snorted in amusement as he passed the drunken sods, now hopelessly entangled on the filthy street. It was so very nice to be remembered.

Sauntering through the gritty streets of Industrial, he made his way to the docks. There, moored against the furthest pier, drifted the _Reaver_. As he walked to the gangway, boot heels thudding on the wooden boards, Reaver again congratulated himself on his newest little game. He had been so terribly _bored_ of late, and now, the fun was about to begin!

* * *

The Queen was bombarded with sound the moment she appeared in Sanctuary. Prince, her Red Setter, was tearing around the map table that stood in the center of the circular room, covered in suds. Jasper, face flushed and out of breath, leaned against the wall next to the Armory, equally soapy brush in hand. "Good...gasp...evening, Madam." Jasper said, struggling to straighten his water-stained clothes. "I thought you had retired for the night. How may I be of service." The Queens' eyebrows rose and, smile tugging at the corners of her lips, she whistled to Prince, bringing him to heel.

"I had an unexpected visit from Reaver tonight." She replied, the amusement fading from her face. "He gave me these." Jasper came forward and she passed both the invitation and note to him. "I'll finish this." Motioning to the dripping canine, the Queen walked to the Armory door, ignoring Jasper's startled protests.

Some time later she emerged, Prince trotting beside her, clean and dry. She sighed down at her embroidered vest, now liberally splashed with water, trying to smooth the fabric with her fingers. Her tailor would not be pleased. The Queen found Jasper standing where she had left him, his face drawn and worried. "Madam, will you accept this invitation?" Surprised by the blunt question, the Queen knelt, running her fingers through Princes' silky fur. "I don't know." She replied softly. "What are your thoughts?"

Jasper frowned, staring down at the offending pages. "It is, most certainly, an attempt to embroil you in one of his scandalous plots." His frown deepened. "I would never presume, Madam, to tell you how to conduct your business." He paused, clearing his throat. "But I urge you to consider declining this invitation. I do not see how any good can come of this."

The Queen straightened, arms folded, contemplating the map of Albion before her. She ran a finger along the glossy, painted topography, hesitating over Aurora. "I haven't seen Kalin since Walters... memorial." She paused, looking down as tears again threatened to spill from her eyes. Jasper waited, sympathy and understanding plain on his face. "Besides," she added after a long moment. "I'm curious about these "acquaintances" of Fathers."

Jasper nodded, sighing. "Very well, Madam. The date is set for...," he glanced down, "six weeks from tomorrow. It should be just enough time to arrange matters." The Queen nodded, retrieving the papers from Jasper. "I'll inform Hobson tomorrow, first thing." Suddenly, she burst out laughing. "Oh, he is going to be absolutely thrilled. I'm accepting an invitation from his _beloved_ Master Reaver!" Still chuckling, she called Prince to her side, and waving good night to Jasper, left Sanctuary in a flash of blue light.

* * *

"There will be no further discussion on the matter, ladies and gentlemen. I depart for Aurora aboard the _Sparrow_ in three days time. That is my final decision." The Queen said, the steel in her voice ringing out through her study. "No extra fanfare, pomp or ceremony." She continued, looking each of her councilors in the eyes. "And definitely no escort. Captain Phells and his crew will be more than adequate. Nothing has changed since the last time this subject was raised."

She motioned to her page, a dark-haired boy of about twelve, who stood waiting in attendance by the doors. "That will be all for today, thank you." The Queen nodded a dismissal as the boy showed her grumbling council out.

"Well. That could have gone better." She said to the lad after he had shut the doors. "Aye, don' think it coulda gone much worse." His thick, Industrial-slums accent sounded out of place with the blue and silver splendor of his royal livery. He shook his head, tossing his dark brown hair from his eyes, and grinned at his Queen. "Cheeky thief," she replied, an answering smile dancing across her lips. "No respect for authority."

* * *

He had been pinching purses in the Market, nearly six months before, when one of the guards patrolling the square had spotted him. Leading the increasing pack of guardsmen on a merry chase through the back alleys of Bowerstone, he had taunted them, slipping under stacks of crates and over rubbish heaps. Doubling back to the square, intent on disappearing into the increasing crowd, he had tripped over a raised cobblestone, sprawling face first in the street.

The first guard had just grabbed the back of his collar when a clear, lyrical voice commanded, "Hold." The boy had looked up through dirty bangs at a tall blond woman, dressed in a dark blue vest embroidered in silver, black breeches and boots. His eyes lit on the gold circlet at her brow and he gulped, realizing just whose feet he had fallen at. As the guard stammered an explanation, the boy had stared up at the Queen of Albion, meeting her light brown eyes.

Holding up a hand for silence, she asked, "What is your name, child?" The boy had hesitated for a moment, then replied softly. "Timon, Ma'am. Don' have a las' one." The Queen, still looking into the boys' eyes, motioned at the guard to release him, then knelt before him.

"Where are your parents, Timon?" She asked. The boy dropped his gaze to the ground, shame written across his small, thin body. "Ain't got any, Ma'am." He felt a feather light touch under his chin and, tipping his face up to meet her eyes again, the Queen said, "Would you come with me? To the castle, to live and work as one of my pages? I promise, you will be safe and happy. The work is hard and you will have to learn to read and write, among other things, but you will have a future. One that doesn't include stealing to survive."

The boys jaw had dropped, staring in shock at the Queen. "Yer serious? Ya want me? Why?" He had demanded, suspicion darkening his blue eyes. She had smiled at him, understanding his hesitation. "You have survived on the streets, you're quick and intelligent," she laughed, shaking her head. "You ran circles around my guards. I could use someone with your talents and potential. What do you say?"

Timon looked into the Queens kind eyes, thinking. Coming to a decision, he spat into his hand and extended it to her. "Ya got a deal, Majesty."

* * *

The Queen stood, stretching to her full height. Timon watched her, grin still hovering on his young face. "So," she asked him, "are you excited about our little adventure?" He laughed. "Can't think o' any who wouldn' be, 'cept maybe that lot." Timon said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the doors. "They're actin' like ya don' know how ta tie yer own boots." He continued, pulling a face to show his thoughts on the fussy old nobles that formed her council.

She chuckled, turning to the window. The last rays of the setting sun were just striking the gardens, turning all they touched brilliant shades of burnished gold. The Queen stared out over her grounds, drinking in the quiet beauty of the fading day. She turned her eyes from the familiar sight and searched the horizon for the telltale smoke of Industrial, where her ship sat ready at the docks. "Just a few more days, Timon." She said softly. "A few more days and we're gone."


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note: Hello again everyone! I've been so excited to post this chapter! Hopefully you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!

Disclaimer: Lionhead owns it all. *teardrop

**In Which The Queen Sails Into The Unknown**

The stiff breeze, carrying with it the sharp, salty scent of the sea, danced around the Queen. Invisible fingers teased through her sun-kissed hair, whipping tendrils from the neat plait coiled at the base of her skull. She laughed aloud as another gust filled the sails of her ship, the _Sparrow_, with the snapping of rope and canvas. All around her, sailors dashed to and fro, making the last minute preparations necessary to leave the protective seawall surrounding the docks and head into open water.

Captain Phells stood beside her, scratching Prince behind the ears and barking the occasional order, with a sense of ease and long familiarity. He looked sideways at the Queen, grin splitting his worn, wind-scarred face. "Just like old times, Majesty." She laughed again, nodding.

Phells had been an Admiral in the Royal Navy during her fathers' reign. He had also been his friend and one of his advisers. He had taught the Hero-Kings' children everything they knew of the sea, treating them not as the Prince and Princess, but as his own flesh and blood.

He was an old man now, hair turning snowy white long ago, but his body was still strong and his mind sharp. When the Queen had announced to her council that she would sail to Aurora, he had come forward immediately to offer his services. "Mustn't remind the bleaters they've got a Queen who's perfectly able to captain her own vessel." He had said with a wink, as they sat in her study before the fire. "Makes them noble-types nervous, having royalty that can do for themselves."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, leaning into the wind. She felt so much lighter, now that she was finally away. The crush at the docks had been positively hellish, the clamor of hundreds, come to see their Queen off, utterly deafening. She could still see the throbbing kaleidoscope of humanity on the distant shore, if she had cared to turn her head.

_I really will enjoy discovering who leaked the day of my departure to the public._ Fresh annoyance blooming for the petty nobles that formed her council._ Perhaps I'll replace a few when I return. It would be highly amusing to let Page loose among them. Or Ben for that matter._ She opened her eyes, lips curving into a smile at the thought.

* * *

Reaver watched as the _Sparrow_ faded from view, disappearing on the horizon. He stood, tapping his cane against the deck, deep in thought. The girl had left earlier then he had expected. "Well." He murmured under his breath. "That simply won't do." He would have to have a chat with that odious little man, Hobson. Really, what was the point of _paying_ for information when one could not provide it in a timely fashion.

Signaling to his first mate, he spoke. "Go round up the rest of the lads, and be quick about it. We sail the instant I return from my little errand." Reaver swept down the pier, wicked eyes snapping merrily, his characteristic smirk a touch more bloodthirsty than usual. As he headed in the direction of the castle, he caressed the ornate handle of his pistol, humming a little tune under his breath.

* * *

Two days later, after Timon had recovered from his unexpected bout of seasickness, the Queen stood on the main deck of the _Sparrow_, drilling him on basic thrusts and blocks with a practice sword. She leaned at the railing, Prince dozing beside her and tapped her sword against the wooden planks, signaling the boy to change stances at each beat. Phells, relaxing on the other side of her, watched the young pages' progress.

"I'm curious, Majesty. Do you teach all the pages swordplay?" The Captain asked, as Timon came to the end of the current pattern and the Queen signaled him to start the next. "Seems like you would have little time for yourself, as many of the mites as you have running about the castle."

"Timon is a special case." She replied, smiling as the boy in question heaved a massive sigh and started from the beginning. "How so?" Phells asked, but the Queen just shook her head, her smile turning secretive. "All right, all right, keep your secrets. You always did like having them, even as a babe." He said, chuckling.

"He's picking it up pretty quickly, for a street whelp. Seems to be something of a natural." He added innocently, looking at her with bushy eyebrows raised. The Queen giggled, covering her mouth with a hand to hide her grin. "Oh no, you won't get it out of me, pirate-chaser. I'm wise to your crafty ways." She teased, laughingly wagging a finger at him.

"Can't fault a man for trying." Phells was saying, when something massive rammed the _Sparrow_ from under the waves, nearly capsizing the ship, driving everyone except for the Queen and Timon to their knees. "What the bloody hell?" Phells bellowed as he struggled to his feet.

The Queen, leaning over the side, swore loudly, grabbing Phells and hauling him back from the rail as enormous, black tentacles erupted from the water, ringing the _Sparrow_. A high-pitched, haunting cry echoed up from the depths as Phells face paled, his eyes shining bright with fear. "Kraken." He whispered, hands beginning to tremble as they watched tentacles twisting and whirling through the air, snapping the ships rigging to pieces. "We're done for." He moaned.

"The hell we are!" The Queen snarled, thrusting the Captain and as many of the crew as she could through the door to the cabins below deck. "Timon! It's time to see what you can do with this!" She said, grabbing him by the shoulder and positioning the boy in front of the door. Pushing her pistol into his hands, she added, "It's already loaded. Just try not to shoot me in the back."

"But I ain't ever shot anythin' before!" The frightened boy howled as she sprinted down the length of the ship, towards the monstrous head that had just appeared over the bow. "Don't worry," she called back over her shoulder. "When you need to, you will!"

The Queen faced the nightmare, midnight-black hide gleaming dully in the sun. "Well, aren't you a nasty beast, right enough." She said, feral laugh bubbling from behind her lips. _Oh, how I've missed this_. She thought, sword humming as she unsheathed it. She called her Will and brilliant, blue light ignited on her skin as her power bloomed.

"Come, love, I haven't got all day." Her sword sliced through the air, ghostly flames pulsing in time to her heartbeat, and the smell of scorched ozone rose, thick and clotting, on the breeze. Flicking her fingers, she sent Vortexes spinning across the waves. Instantly they grew into towering waterspouts, slamming the tentacles that tore at the sails.

The sound of wood splintering drew her gaze up, just in time to see the mast, gripped by a particularly massive tentacle, ripped from its mount. The Queen ducked as lines snapped, whipping across the deck as the shattered mast was hauled over the side, disappearing below the dark, churning water. "Balls!" She swore, turning back to the Kraken. "Now that wasn't very nice!"

The Kraken loomed over her, maw gaping open to reveal row upon row of razor-sharp teeth, saliva dripping in thick, silvery strands onto the deck. A flurry of shots sounded from behind her and she watched as black blood splattered, oozing from one great, faceted eye. Head rearing back, the monster shrieked in agony, sound piercing the air like a blade.

"That's quite enough of that." The Queen winced, then shot an encouraging smile over her shoulder at Timon. The boy stood rooted to the spot, staring in wonder at the weapon in his hands. "Nice shooting!" She called to him, earning a huge smile from the page as he aimed and fired again.

The Queen sliced at the tentacles creeping over the rail, then charged her Will, lightning crawling along her blade. As the cavernous jaws descended again, she struck with both sword and spell, leaning past the slashing teeth. The blade slid into the Krakens' brain through the roof of its mouth, all the way to the hilt. Lightning exploded inside the monsters' skull, frying flesh and blackening bone with a sizzling hiss.

Eyes dull with death, the Kraken slipped over the side, sinking beneath the waves. The Queen stumbled back, exhaustion hitting her in a instant. "Put too much into that last strike." She said to herself. Timon sprinted to her as she leaned against the shattered mast, dismissing the Vortexes that still spun slowly around the ship. "Well done, Timon. I told you that you would do fine." She said with a tired smile.

"Yer not hurt?" He asked frantically, still clutching her pistol. "I'm fine," The Queen said, waving him off. "I'll be alright in a moment. I just need to catch my breath. It's been awhile since I've had that much fun." She added with a grin. Timon hesitated, then returned her smile with a weak one of his own. "Aye. T'was rather excitin'."

"Yes, well. Now that you two have had your entertainment for the day, we best be figuring out how we're going to get to Aurora in a ship with no mast or sails." Phells had emerged from below, bringing Prince and the rest of the crew with him. Surveying the damage, he shook his head wearily. "There'll be no repairing this at sea. We have to turn back. The steam-paddles will get us back to Bowerstone, barely, but they'd never make it to Aurora." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Majesty. We have no choice."

"Maybe we do." She said softly, pointing over his shoulder. Phells turned, seeing what the Queen had spotted in the distance. He whistled under his breath. "Well now, imagine that. How'd the cocky bastard know where to find us?"

Gliding smoothly across the choppy water to rest beside the shattered _Sparrow_, was the _Reaver_. Standing at the rail, fingers tapping, was the arrogant man himself, grinning from ear to ear. "My, My! It appears you've had a bit of trouble, hum? Perhaps I might be of some assistance?"

The Queen straightened with a sigh. "Blessed Light, why me?" She muttered before adding, louder. " Alright Peacock, just how much is this "assistance" going to cost me?"


	4. Chapter 4

Authors Note: Hello everyone! I apologize profusely for the delay in posting this. I decided, partway through writing this chapter, that I was going to go in a totally different direction then I had originally planned. (Don't you just love when that happens...). Anyway, I think I have it all worked out now so hopefully, knock on wood, there shouldn't be such a stretch between chapters!

Disclaimer: Lionhead owns it all. *teardrop

**In Which The Queen Revels A Secret**

"That was too easy." The Queen muttered, twirling a loose strand of hair between her fingers. Standing on the main deck of the _Reaver_, she watched as the crew of the _Sparrow_ moved crates and chests to the larger ship. "He was too eager, and he didn't ask for nearly as much as he should have. He's up to something." Timon snorted. "When's 'e not? Bloody peacock." He snickered into his hand. "Ya see 'is face when ya called 'im that? Looked like 'e bit into a lemon!"

She looked sternly down at the boy, though amusement sparkled deep in her eyes. "Don't call him that were he can hear you, Timon. He'd quite happily put a bullet in your brain." Her face grew serious. "Never forget he's a dangerous, vicious bastard without even a scrap of conscience." The Queen held Timon's gaze, willing him to heed her words, until he looked down and nodded his compliance. "Yes, Majesty."

"Now that wasn't very charitable, my dear! I'll give you dangerous, and vicious as well, but I'm hardly a bastard! I did know my father." Reaver had appeared behind them, followed closely by a tall, lean black man. Tilting his head to one side and tapping his chin with a gloved finger, he surveyed his new passengers. Waving a hand at the man standing behind him, Reaver continued. " This charming gentleman is my first mate, Ven. If you require anything during your little_ visite royale_, my dear, he is at your disposal." He turned away in what was obviously a dismissal.

Arching an eyebrow at Timon, she murmured, "Mustn't forget he's arrogant, too." The Queen smiled sweetly, calling out as Reaver sauntered away, "I believe I've told you on several occasions not to call me that." Flicking a finger after the Industrialist, she sent a Vortex skimming across the deck. It whipped around Reaver, tugging clothes and mussing his elaborately styled hair before snatching the hat from his head and flinging it into the sea.

He watched it bobbing on the waves for a few moments before turning back the the Queen, looking for all the world like an offended cat. Seeing the wicked, gleeful grin on her face, he sighed gustily, "Really, that was rather childish for royalty, don't you think?" She burst out laughing, then spun on her heels, heading for the cabins at the rear of the ship, leaving Timon and Ven to follow hastily behind.

* * *

Hours later, after Ven had installed her in a luxurious suite and left to show Timon his own quarters, the Queen sat in a padded chair, upholstered in a rich, crimson plush, tuning her lute. The rooms she now occupied were decorated in, surprise, tones of crimson and gold. Upon first entering the cabin, she had sighed, muttering under her breath about a certain aristocrats' questionable sense of decor.

After seeing off the limping _Sparrow_, she had returned to her cabin to find all her belongings piled in the center of the room. Shaking her head, because really, what could you expect from pirates, she began unpacking, checking everything for signs of tampering. She found none until she reached a small, copper-bound chest, emblazoned with the crest of the long dead King.

It was a gift from her father, entrusted to Walter on his death, to be given to her on her sixteenth birthday. The seals glowed with a faint, blue light, showing that the first of the magical defenses had been tripped. She snickered, knowing that somewhere on the _Reaver_, someone was trying desperately to cover up the words "arse face" written in blazing letters across their forehead. Walter had always said her father had a rather particular sense of humor.

Fogging her breath across the copper surface of the rampant lions, she flicked the top of the chest up, taking stock of its contents. Inside, nestled together to prevent jostling from being transported between ships, were her most prized possessions. Her fathers' journals, detailing his great quest to defeat Lord Lucien and avenge the death of his sister, the aunt she had never known. Her Guild Seal. A beautifully carved wooden rose. A slightly scorched, leather-bound book and a pistol.

Reaching for the tattered volume, she read the note her father had left, just inside the cover. This book, along with his journals, had been the only things in the chest when she had received it. She blinked tears from her eyes as she read the words, written in the last days of her fathers' life, before the pain had stripped him of everything but the will to indure.

_My Dearest Girl,_

_I write this with a heavy heart, knowing that by the time your read these words, I will be no more then the shadow of a memory to you. My time is short, too short to truly prepare you for the path you must take, but I will do all I can and pray it will be enough. Your destiny is a hard one, my girl, but you are already so strong, it gives me great hope, leaving our people in your hands. _

_Listen to Walter and Jasper, dear one. Learn everything they have to teach you. You will need what they have to offer in the end. Help your brother. The road he takes will be as difficult as your own. Remember that, no matter what, he loves you. _

_As for the books I'm leaving here for you, study them closely. The one who wrote this diary has already expressed an interest in you, which I have tried to discourage. I know you are a clever girl. Use the knowledge you gain here wisely and you will be able to keep him in check._

_Know that I love you, Princess, with all my heart and I will be with you always._

_Father

* * *

_

Reaver watched the Queen, leaning against the doorway to her chambers with his arms crossed. The open lid of a small traveling chest hid what she was contemplating with such intensity, but he assumed from the tears in her eyes that it was something that held quite a bit of significance to her.

That chest was the reason he was here. It had been the only item of the Queens that Ven had been unable to search, sensing the power hidden behind the polished, copper surface. He had sent one of the crewman that had some skill at picking locks to try his luck. When Ven had brought the unfortunate man to Reaver, he had laughed himself to tears, seeing Sparrows' hand all over the glowing words scrawled across the poor sods' face.

Having always been a slave to his curiosity, Reaver had gone directly to the Queens cabin, intent on seeing this "magic chest" for himself. Finding the door partially open, he had shoved it the rest of the way, only to be greeted by the sight of the tearful Queen.

* * *

She felt someone watching her. Snatching the pistol from inside the chest, she pointed it at the door, realizing too late that the one standing there was the very last person she wanted to see this particular weapon. She tightened her grip on the Dragonstomper .48 and schooled her face into a blank, slightly bored expression. She knew all about Reavers' obsession with owning all six of the legendary pistols, the graves of the previous owners were littered throughout Albion. She squared her shoulders as his eyes lit on the weapon, then blazed with recognition.

"So that's where he hid it!" The man crowed, dancing forward for a closer look. Startled, the Queen straightened, stepping back from the chest, Reavers' diary still clenched in her other hand. Totally focused on the Dragonstomper, Reaver barely glanced at the battered tome and, for a brief moment, she thought he had dismissed it altogether. The Queens' heart skipped a beat when the ex-pirates' eyes snapped back to the book and he froze, mid-step. _Double balls._ She thought, as Reaver slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers, anger barely concealed in their emerald depths.

"My, my, you are positively full of surprises, my dear! How utterly unexpected."


	5. Chapter 5

Authors Note: Just want to give a shout out to everyone that has taken the time to review. Thank you GreyhawkGal for multiple posts, I love your feedback! Piraticaly-Insane, thanks for the love :) Its nice to know that I'm not alone in having ideas explode in my face! LittleNikki, DR34M3R and PhoenixDownAt20, thank you so much for the support in my first excursion into the fanfiction world! I also want to thank everyone that has favorite-ed, subscribed or just took the time to read my little story. I luvs you all this BIG! (Extending arms as far as they reach).

Disclaimer: Lionhead owns it all. *teardrop

**In Which The Queen Finds More Questions Then Answers **

"I swear, if you call me that one more time..." The Queen growled through gritted teeth, lowering her weapon. She tossed the diary and Dragonstomper into the chest at her feet, toeing the lid shut with her boot. The latches locked with a snap, resetting the spells imbedded in the gleaming metal. "Just so you know, I have to be living to unlock that." She snapped, crossing her arms.

"It seems I've underestimated you, Ilona. How unfortunate." Reavers' voice was clipped and precise, holding none of its usual amusement and mockery. Tension sang through her body as adrenalin spilling into her veins, and she shifted forward slightly on the balls of her feet. In all the years she had known him, he had only called her by name a handful of times, usually when she had done something particularly foolish or childish. It always heralded trouble, and on occasion, massive property damage.

"I am not a little girl, Reaver, to be intimidated by stern words, especially coming from you." She snarled, her temper rapidly eroding. "You never frightened me as a child and you don't bloody well scare me now! You have _always_ underestimated me." Lightning danced through the air as she stood poised, waiting for him to so much as twitch towards his holstered pistol.

Reaver watched as gracefully curving Will lines flared into life across the exposed flesh of her arms and face. Meeting her eyes, which had changed from light, creamy brown to vibrant amber, he sighed in an eloquent, long-suffering manner. Flopping down into an armchair with boneless grace, all anger drained from his face, vanishing as completely as if it had never existed. Massaging the bridge of his nose with a hand, he said wearily, "Do stop sparking so, Majesty, and sit down. It seems we have matters to discuss."

* * *

"Do stop fidgeting so, Princess. You'll never hit anything if you're constantly dancing about."

Tossing platinum-blond hair from her eyes, she stuck her tongue out at the tall, green-eyed noble, leaning against the stone wall surrounding the lower garden. This was the third day that he had come here, to the secluded spot where she had created her little shooting range, and she was beginning to get annoyed.

She had seen him before, of course, talking with her brother in the War Room or walking the halls of the castle. She knew he was someone "important". Logan had warned her to be polite if he ever spoke to her, but to try and avoid him if at all possible. Well, these were her gardens, and anyway, she had been here first. She may only be six, but she was _royalty_, after all.

Deciding that ignoring him was her best option, she resumed shooting. Holding the toy pistol in both hands, she squinted at the bottle she was aiming for. The tip of her tongue peeked from the corner of her mouth as she focused her attention on the gleaming, blue-green surface of the glass.

Concentrating, she failed to notice when the strange man left his vantage point at the wall, coming to stand next to her. "No, no, no! That's all wrong, you'll never hit anything like that!" He said, disgust thick in his voice. Plucking the toy from her hands, he deftly positioned her, one arm outstretched and the other bent behind her back, feet slightly apart. Gripping her by the shoulders, he tilted her body at an angle to her target, then deposited her pistol back into her extended hand.

"There! Infinitely better. Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, shoot, shoot!" He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest and tapped a booted foot impatiently. The Princess stared up at him, brown eyes wide in surprise, then looked back at the bottles. Taking a deep breath, she aimed and pulled the trigger, automatically pointing the toy gun towards the sky after releasing it. The sound of breaking glass was followed closely by the laughter of the gentleman beside her.

"Excellent! Perfect form!" The man exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "That's something to tell your grandchildren, my dear!" He said, turning on his heel and heading towards the entrance to Bowerstone Market. "Taught to shoot by the great Reaver himself!" Laughing, he added over his shoulder. "Not that they'll believe you!"

Stunned, the Princess stood frozen for a long moment. Coming to herself, she pelted after his rapidly retreating figure. Reaching the main gates, the girl yelled after him, voice ringing through the morning air, clear and true. "My name is Ilona, not 'my dear,' thank you very much!"

* * *

"I don't take orders from you, Peacock!" The Queen growled, clenching her hands into fists at her side, resisting an overpowering urge to fry the pompous prig in his seat. "What could we possible have to talk about, other than your massive lack of propriety, decency and sense of honor?" She stomped to the glittering row of windows, taking up the entire rear wall of the room, and stared out at the setting sun, sinking beneath the waves.

The Queen heard him mutter under his breath, "_Toujours un petit marmot sauvage..."_

(A/N: "Still a savage little brat...")

Whirling to face him, she snapped, "_Toujours un déviant arrogant!"_

(A/N: "Still a arrogant deviant!")

Reaver stared at the Queen, astonishment plain on his ageless face. Bursting into peals of laughter, he slapped his knee several times with a gloved hand. "I should have known! Sparrow always was so annoyed by my little wordplay, he would have had you taught the language." Sobering in the next instant, he added. "Really, my dear. You must have realized there is more at work here than a little pleasure cruise to a fancy party?"

"Then pray, enlighten me, oh great Reaver! Banish the fog of my ignorance!" The Queen snarled, sarcasm and frustration dripping from her words. Flinging herself into the chair across from him, she continued, in a marginally calmer tone. "Even before that trice-damned Kraken, I've felt as if I'm being steered towards some grand, highly unpleasant destiny." She grimaced. "It feels like it did the year before the Darkness invaded." Voice dropping to a whisper, the Queen added, almost to herself. "All bated breath and barely concealed panic."

She glanced at the silent man. Reaver shrugged, elbow propped on the arm of his chair, cheek resting against his closed fist. Smirking, a wicked glint shining in green eyes, he laughed nastily. "You didn't honestly think I would just tell you? Everything has a price, your Majesty, as I'm sure you've found by now. I want my diary, dear one, and I want it now. Then..." He raised his other hand, making an airy, elegant gesture, "I'll tell you everything I know."

The Queen brought a hand to her face, rubbing her temple. She had half expected something of the sort, although she would have thought the Dragonstomper the more tempting prize. Reaching for the small chest, she leaned forward, breathing on the crest for a second time. The locks snapped up and she lifted the lid, snatching the book. Quickly ripping out the page that held her fathers' message, she tossed the diary to Reaver, thrusting the note back inside the chest and slamming the lid shut.

Catching the battered volume, Reaver cocked an eyebrow, flipping to the missing page. "What could that have been, I wonder? Keeping a memento, love?" He caressed the torn paper with a fingertip. "Shut it, Reaver." She ordered. "You've got your book, now tell me, what is going on?"

* * *

Timon sat, back pressed against the wall next to the open door, barely daring to breath. He tightened his grip on Prince's collar as the dog strained against him, trying to run to his mistress. Wrapping an arm around the dog's shoulders, he peeked around the frame of the door, glancing quickly about the room. Reassured that his queen had the situation well in hand, he settled back to listen.

* * *

"Well?" The Queen demanded. She crossed her legs, lacing her fingers over her raised knee. Reaver continued to thumb through the diary, reading a passage here and there, chuckling quietly to himself. Closing the book with a snap, he tucked it into a coat pocket, turning his attention back to the Queen.

"Well?" He echoed, slouching back into the depths of the chair. "Oh yes, you're referring to my side of our little bargain, correct? Let me see, where to begin?" He stared at the Queen, amusement danced across his face. "You are familiar with the Seer of the Spire, of course? Yes, well, I received a visit from the darling old bat, right after I returned from my little trip. She had quite the proposal for me, a most interesting piece of work with a reward that I simply could not turn down."

The Queen sighed heavily, passing a hand across her eyes. "Just get to the point, please. I've had a rather trying day and absolutely no patience for your usual theatrics." She gestured for him to continue, drumming her fingers against the chairs armrest.

"As you wish, my dear." Reaver replied, frowning slightly. "You are, however, taking all the fun out of it. I'm rather put out." _If he wasn't such a refined creature, I would say he was pouting._ The Queen stifled her laughter at the thought, coughing into her hand to cover it.

"The point," Reaver stressed the word, "is that you must be in Aurora in twenty-six days. If the blind hag is correct, and she has an appalling habit of being so, there will be a rather spectacular celestial event over the Shifting Sands. As is depressingly usual with such things, this foreshadows world-ending calamity or some other such nonsense. I must confess, I lost interest when she started droning on..." He waved a hand at the bank of windows, where a slim, crescent moon was just visible in the darkening sky. "We have just enough time." Reaver concluded.

"Leaving aside the 'world-ending calamity' comment for the moment, it does not take a month to sail to Aurora, Reaver!" The Queen cried in disgust. "I may be young, but I am not an idiot! Two weeks at the most, if the wind is against us." She stood, glaring down at Reaver, hands propped on her hips. He laughed. "You surprise me again, Ilona!" He straightened, stepping so close to the Queen that she could feel the heat radiating from him. "We've just enough time with a little detour to the Spire." Reaver continued, voice dropping lower. "It seems Theresa wishes to meet you in person, no doubt wanting to deliver the bad news herself."

He was so close that the breath from his words caressed her skin. She froze, unsure of both his intentions and her own, suddenly chaotic, emotions. She had seen him pull such stunts before, usually on Page or some other, equally disgusted person, but he had never, never tried anything like this with her.

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, a soft brush of lips against smooth skin. She reacted, fist sailing up from her side to give him a kiss of her own. He ducked away from her blow, dancing out of range with a laugh. "Consider it payback for the diary, my dear!" Reaver bowed, keeping sparkling, emerald eyes fixed on her own. "Sleep well, my Queen." He said, sweeping out of the room.

He stopped short, just outside the doorway. Glancing back over his shoulder at the Queen, he addressed someone just outside the door. "Just a suggestion for the future, the next time you wish to eavesdrop you may want to choose someone other than a panting dog for a companion." Reaver winked at an open-mouthed Timon, then continued out the door leading to the deck of his ship.


	6. Chapter 6

Authors Note: Hello all! Well, it's a bit long, but honestly, I got so caught up in writing this chapter that I lost track and didn't want to stop! Anyways, I hope you like!

Disclaimer: Lionhead owns it all. *teardrop

**In Which The Queen Begins To Understand **

The Queen stared up in wonder as the _Reaver_ sailed through the massive archway guarding the entrance to the Spire. _I never realized just how big it really is._ She thought, marveling at the sight of huge stone pillars, each nearly ten feet across, rising out of the waves to support the cavernous ceiling hundreds of feet above their heads. She frowned, glancing over to Reaver. "What's that...pulsing?" She asked, rubbing her hands over her arms, trying to dispel the buzzing, deep within her bones.

"Hum?" Reaver stood at the wheel, attention on the crew preparing to dock at the raised pier in the center of the enormous room. "Oh, that. Nothing to trouble yourself over, my dear. It was the same before, as well."

Timon, leaning over the railing for a better view, settled back on the wooden planks of the deck with a resounding "thud" and turned to look at Reaver. Squaring his shoulders, he said, "Yer talkin' bout when ya beat that get, Lord Lucien, right?" He nodded sagely as Reaver raised an eyebrow, staring at the boy.

"I gotcha," Timon continued, pantomiming a pistol with his thumb and forefinger. "Hero o' Skill." The Queen sighed heavily, "Timon..." Reaver held up his hand, interrupting her. "And just how, little boy, do you know that?"

Timon snorted, "Every bleatin' fool in Albion knows the story bout the four Great Heroes. Hero o' Skill was a pirate that could hit any shot 'e took." Timon motioned to the holstered pistol at Reavers' side. "I've seen ya use that at the factory, so it ain't just fer show and this," he tapped the rail beside him, "sure looks like a bloody pirate ship!"

A loud "click" drew Timon's attention to the pistol Reaver had coolly drawn and was now aiming right between his eyes. He gulped, all the blood draining from his face. The barrel of the weapon loomed in the boys vision, growing larger and larger until it seemed the entire world faded before the gaping blackness.

Timon started at Reaver's low chuckle, tearing his eyes away to look at the man. "You're quite fast with that blade, are you not?" He said, tilting his head at an angle. It was then Timon realized that the Queen had moved the instant Reaver had drawn his weapon, unsheathing her sword and resting the curved blade against the big, pulsing vein of his neck.

"Reaver," the Queen said softly, sword held steady against his throat. "I find myself suddenly curious as to the extent of your bargain with the Shadow Court. I wonder, does it cover beheading?" The Industrialist rolled his eyes over to the Queen, wincing at the slightly feral smile gracing her lips. "Now that I have your undivided attention, am I to satisfy my curiosity? Or will you be sensible?"

"Completely unnecessary, your Majesty, I assure you." Reaver said, tone haughty as he returned his Dragonstomper to its holster. "The little brat is safe," he smirked at the boy, "for the moment." Shaking her head, the Queen walked to the railing, sheathing her sword as she did so.

Glancing down to the dock below, she turned back, staring hard at Timon and Reaver. "Behave while I'm gone. Both of you. That is an order." She added, eying the page and pirate sternly. "Yes, Majesty." Timon murmured, dropping his gaze to the ground. Reaver bowed flippantly, drawling, "Of course, my Queen, your desire is my command!"

"Right." The Queen replied, voice heavily laced with sarcasm. She turned, then vaulted over the rail in a single, smooth motion.

* * *

Theresa stood, staring into the vast emptiness of the chamber in the very heart of the Spire. Suspended high above the rolling waves, she tilted her head, listening to whispering voices only she could hear. Smiling a slight, enigmatic smile, she turned her attention to the tiny figure making its way from the ship moored at the dock.

* * *

The Queen stalked up the staircase leading to an open doorway that radiated a piercing, white light. She shuddered, recalling the entries in her fathers' journals concerning the Spire, the ten long years he had spent, trapped within these walls. She paused just before the door, hesitating. Steeling herself, the Queen stepped into the light, vanishing.

She shook her head, blinking, trying to dispel the flashing spots before her eyes. Her vision finally clearing, she glanced around her, taking stock of her surroundings. She stood, encircled by fog, in what appeared to be a large grassy meadow, liberally splashed with the pinks, yellows and blues of wildflowers.

"Hello?" The Queen called, turning in a slow circle, searching for any signs of life. "Is anyone there?" Receiving no response, she added, the first traces of anger beginning to color her words. "I wasn't aware that the Seer of the Spire was one for playing such silly little games."

A sharp bark behind her sent the Queen spinning around, partially drawing her sword. Bounding through the wispy threads of mist towards her was a dog. Groaning, she called out, "I locked you in my room for a reason, you silly beast! Come here before you get hurt." She patted her thigh, beckoning to him.

The dog stopped short, just before fully emerging from the haze. Barking again, he spun about and ran, stopping a few feet away to look back at the Queen. Sighing, she trotted after the animal. "Come on, Prince! This is no place for a game of Chase." Again, the dog ran a short distance and paused, waiting for her to catch up. Frowning, the Queen followed.

* * *

The Queen growled under her breath, trudging after the fleeting glimpses of her wayward dog. She had been walking for nearly an hour, all the while cursing the harebrained hound. Just as she was reaching the end of her patience, a figure appeared, rising out of the fog.

Standing before a huge, gnarled oak tree was Theresa, a cream and tan dog of indeterminate age and breed curled at her feet. The Seer of the Spire smiled, calling out to her. "Welcome, Queen. I have been expecting you for some time."

The Queen stopped, frowning at the woman and dog. "Why all the deception? You could have just met me at the door." She said, the frustration and anger plain in her voice. Theresa, still smiling, shook her head slightly. "There are reasons, Queen, for every action I have ever taken. Soon you will know the truth, and understand." As Theresa faded from view, the Queen became aware of a soft metallic noise, faint but growing louder with every passing moment.

She whirled, putting her back to the tree, and scanned the fog. Looming out of the haze were nine figures, each nearly twelve feet tall. The Queens' heart sank as she recognized the spread wings, halting gait and long staffs of the Dark Guardians. Drawing her sword with a hand that trembled ever so slightly, she pushed back the rising despair that threatened to overwhelm her. Memories flowed, unbidden, before her eyes. Memories of fighting and of killing, memories of blood soaking her hands.

"You must purge these thoughts from yourself. If you are to survive, you must let go of the past." _How strange it is, to have her voice in my head after all this time._ The Queen thought, shaking off her apathy just as the first Guardian reached her. She threw herself to the side, barely missing the weighted end of the staff, which slammed into the ground, right on the spot that she had just vacated.

Grasping the end of the staff, she jerked it forward, pulling the top-heavy creature off balance and ramming her sword into its chest. As its gimlet eyes faded, she ripped her blade out, using the slumping pile of metal as a springboard to launch herself towards the next two Guardians. Striking the first squarely in the stomach with both feet and using her momentum to send it toppling back, she lopped off its head, slicing cleanly through the metal hood and neck.

Rolling free, she came to rest at the feet of the third, driving the blade up to its heart. She danced out of range as the dying monstrosity swiped at her, falling to its knees. "Three down, six to go." She breathed, swiftly counting out the remaining Guardians. _Where's number six?_ She had just enough time to think before a whistling sound behind her sent her diving forward. The Guardian brought its staff up for another strike and the Queen whirled, raising her sword to block.

The staff connected, slamming into the blade with a shower of sparks. For a moment it held, then to the Queens horror, the sword shattered, disintegrating into thousands of glistening shards. She flipped back, dodging the swinging staff and drew her pistol, thanking her lucky stars that she had left her normal weapon with Timon and brought the Dragonstomper instead.

Fighting shock at the loss of her sword, which she had forged with her own hands, she fired repeatedly, each shot striking a joint on the Guardian, sending it tumbling to the ground. The remaining Dark Guardians converged, driving her back until she found herself pressed against the trunk of the oak. Her panic rising, she scrambled to the side, tripping over the tree roots in her haste.

Stumbling into the rough bark, the Queens' hand grazed against something cold and hard. Automatically gripping the object, she found herself holding the handle of a sword embedded deep in the wooden flesh. Tugging sharply on the handle, she ripped the sword free, staring for a heartbeat at the beautiful, clear crystalline blade.

A staff impacting against the tree trunk mere inches from the Queens' head brought her back to reality, and she ducked away, still holding the magnificent sword. The handle began to warm in her hand. She sent her Will into the blade and blue flames ignited, dancing across the crystal surface, refracting light into the mist.

She was out in the open now, away from the dubious safety of the oak tree. The remaining Guardians encircled her, raising their staffs high, then slamming them down, sending shock waves of liquid shadow towards her.

_**Move**__._

A soft, hissing voice spoke, echoing inside the Queens head. She bolted, charging forward with the sword raised.

_**Kill them. Kill them all.**_

The voice sighed, caressing against her mind like silk drawn over skin. The Queen shuddered, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, pain driving the voice back. Swiftly, she cut down the dark angel before her, blade slicing through metal flesh as easily as a hot knife through butter.

_**We are Death. All will bow before us. All will die by our blade.**_

The voice sang through the Queens' blood, and she felt a savage joy that was not her own as she sank the sword deep into the side of a Guardian, cleaving it in half. She gasped out a sob, fighting an internal battle as fierce as the physical, struggling to drive back the alien presence that pressed against her mind.

She staggered, barely dodging a blow meant to crush her skull. Thrusting the sword up, the Queen pierced the Guardians' face, just under its chin. She pulled forward on the handle, ripping the face from the head, as if removing a mask, leaving behind a hollow emptiness.

_**Yield to us. Surrender, and we give you power beyond your wildest imaginings.**_

"Never!" The Queen screamed, falling to her knees as power streaming along her veins. Fire and lightning blasted from her, vaporizing the last of the Dark Guardians, leaving behind blackened, smoking husks. She gripped the handle of the sword, bearing down on the being that inhabited the crystal blade. "I will never yield." She said through clenched teeth.

The blade began to glow a bright, cherry red and the warmth that radiated from it quickened, growing to a burning, scorching heat. The Queen willed her fingers to release the handle, but they remained gripped tight.

_**We shall have you. You are nothing to those who came before. You are weak. Broken.**_

She screamed again, pain and anger ringing out to echo through the fog. Fire leeched from the sword into her fingers and up her arms, lacing into her veins. The Queen burned, the agony causing her to twitch and writhe on the ground.

_**The blood of Black has thinned. You are fading.**_

The Queen felt herself hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, seconds away from passing out. She struggled upright, the muscles in her arms and legs refusing to obey, pain reverberating along her limbs. Finally she stood, trembling violently from the effort. Raising the blade to her eyes, she ran her hand down the edge, slicing open a deep gash and coating the crystal with her blood.

" I am Ilona, daughter of the Hero Sparrow, who rose from nothing to save millions of lives, sacrificing everything he loved for people he never met. I am no weakling." The Queen whispered, her voice fierce. "I will not yield!" She cried out as the fire unmade her, tearing her very soul asunder, until the Queen lost all sense of being, of self. She fell and darkness swallowed her up before she hit the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

Authors Note: Sorry for the wait, my dears! I wanted to play through Fable 2 again and check some details before I posted the next few chapters. What can I say, I'm a slave for the little stuff :) As always, thank you for all the reviews and favorites! Gigi91, thanks for the Reaver love. Honestly, keeping him in character is my biggest concern and it's awesome to hear that he's not massively OoC! Celtycylist, peacock just fits, doesn't it :) I swear, those are the meanest, most vindictive birds I have ever seen, but the moment they spread their pretty feathers everyone "ohs" and "ahs" and forgets that these are the same glorified turkeys that just chased you to your car (and yes, I am speaking from experience). Onelove87, I'm glad your enjoying my little yarn and I promise I won't leave everyone hanging!

Disclaimer: Lionhead owns it all. *teardrop

**In Which The Queen Is Reborn Anew**

The first thing the Queen became conscious of was a cold, wet nose pressed against her cheek. Batting the offender away with her hand, she murmured, "Just a few more minutes, Prince." The sound of a low, female laugh echoing around her sent the Queen bolting upright, blinking at her surroundings.

She lay on a platform, suspended at the very top of the Spire. Enormous slitted gaps in the stone walls reveled great stretches of the star-filled night sky. Surrounding her were four smaller, circular platforms, connected to the main by stone walkways. Sitting directly in front of the Queen was the dog that had lead her on such a merry chase. He grinned at her, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth as he panted.

"Hello there, pooch." She said softly, scratching the scruffy fur of the mutts' head. "I hope you weren't expecting a treat." The Queen made as if to stand, then froze, staring in horror at the crystal sword, still clutched tightly in her other hand.

She raised the blade, examining it closely, searching for any hint of the dark presence she had struggled against earlier. Shadow and light played across the surface, swirling in the crystalline depths. The Queen shuddered as memories of scorching heat and boiling blood came racing through her mind.

"You have little to fear from that sword now, Queen." The familiar, time-worn voice spoke from behind. She rose to her feet, slowly turning to face Theresa. The Seer of the Spire smiled at the Queen, as unchanged by the ravages of time as the stone around her. "You have conquered the being trapped within the blade, and in doing so, been remade into something the world has not seen in countless centuries**."**

The Queen stared at her, shocked. "What are you talking about?" She asked, the first hint of panic rising in her voice. "See for yourself." Theresa replied, raising a ring covered hand. A curtain of liquid streamed down from the darkness above their heads, solidifying into a mirror-like sheet before the Queen.

Staring back from the mirror at her was a woman, utterly transformed, although still recognizably herself. She gasped, stepping forward to examine her reflection. Golden hair, now falling freely to her lower back, gleamed with tones of honey and apricot. Her skin, already pale, had become flawless and luminescent, as if her flesh could barely contain the radiance of her spirit.

But it was her eyes that truly stole her breath, driving all thoughts from her mind. The former light brown had metamorphosed to a brilliant rose-tinted amber, flecks of turquoise, amethyst and sapphire swirling in their depths. Her eyes now spoke of vast power and responsibility, and hinted at the sorrow and heartbreak that she had strove to bury away in the dark recesses of her soul.

"What have you done to me?" The Queen breathed, raising her free hand to rosebud lips, stifling the sob that threatened to burst free. "What have I become..."

* * *

Timon gently rotated the lock pick, smiling in satisfaction at the soft "click" that issued from the window's latch. Stowing the pick in the hidden pocket he had painstakingly stitched into the sleeve of his jacket, he quietly opened the window to Reaver's cabin and peered inside.

He was quite proud of himself for dreaming up this little idea, to pay the peacock back for blatantly searching through both his own belongings and those of his Queen. No one, not even the famous Reaver himself, would expect someone to edge along the narrow, decorative ledge that ran the length of the ship and jimmy the windows, entering from the outside.

It had taken every scrap of strength, courage and agility Timon had possessed to reach his goal, leaning precariously out over the dark water as he sidled along from the Queens room to Reavers. He was determined, however, to complete his self-appointed task, and with Reaver preoccupied above deck, now had seemed as good a time as any.

Easing slowly into the room, scanning the shadows for any hint of movement, Timon padded silently across the wooden floor. A quick, but thorough search of the various dressers and chests scattered throughout the room yielded nothing, and he soon turned his attention to the massive, ornately carved desk that stood in isolated splendor against the far wall.

Plopping down into the plush, high backed chair, Timon rummaged about the drawers, then pulled out his picks and set to work on the only one that was locked. It was a matter of moments to coax the tumblers free and, grinning broadly in triumph, he slid the drawer open. Inside rested several sheaves of loose paper, a small silver-backed photograph and a strange seal that seemed to taint the very air around it.

Silently apologizing to the Queen for all the trouble he had given her during the hours she had spent teaching him to read, he scanned through the documents. Standard contracts and petitions to the Queen met his eyes and he snorted softly, already envisioning her dismissing every single one.

Turning to the photograph, he flipped the cover up and nearly dropped it in surprise. His Queen's face stared up at him, a laughing smile spread across her face as she looked over her shoulder at the one taking the picture. She was younger, perhaps sixteen, and she did not bare the sorrow that now marked her so deeply. He had seen a similar miniature in the Portrait Gallery at the castle, but how and why Reaver had come to have one, Timon couldn't guess.

A small sound from outside the door sent Timon scrambling, replacing everything in the drawer exactly as it had been. Shutting it, he used a pick to trip the lock, the tumblers falling back into place. He was out of the chair and climbing out of the window in a heartbeat. He had just swung the panes shut and was sliding out of sight down the ledge when Ven appeared in the doorway.

Timon watched, peeking through the corner of the glass, as Ven prowled about the room, searching. He paused for a long moment, staring at the desk, a deep frown furrowing his brow. Timon swallowed, sweat breaking out on his skin as Ven turned, slowly examining the cabin. He barely dared to breath when Ven, taking a last look at the desk, stalked out of the room.

* * *

The Queen turned from the mirror and faced Theresa. "What have I become?" She repeated, jewel-like eyes imploring the Seer, begging to be told it was only a dream. Theresa shook her head, smile turning bittersweet. "You became what Albion needs you to be. To face the coming storm, you must be more than a Hero. Now, you are."

Theresa motioned with her hand and the mirror dissolved, turning into a sparkling vapor that slowly disappeared. Gesturing to the crystal weapon, she continued. "Only one other person has ever been able to wield the blade of the Shadow Queen. William Black, the first Archon, fought constantly to master her spirit, trapped inside her own sword at the very moment of her death."

The Queen stood mute, looking at the weapon as if it were a poisonous serpent. "What exactly are you saying?" She asked quietly, dread swelling in her heart as she guessed the truth. Theresa nodded once. "You already know the answer. You are one of that ancient race, the first new Archon to walk this land in time beyond measure. I have waited countless years for one of our bloodline to approach the threshold between Hero and Archon, to offer them the sword and give Albion a chance to finally purge the darkness that plagues her, once and for all."

Theresa watched as the Queen struggled to absorb what she had told her, emotions playing across her beautiful, eternally young face. Anger, fear and despair surfaced, vanishing as swiftly as they appeared, until only steely determination remained. She looked straight into Theresa's sightless eyes.

"What must I do?"


End file.
